Chapter 5: A Trip Around North Korea

Lucky woke to the banging of an object against another object, his senses alert as the noise suddenly stopped. It took him a moment to recollect where he had slept, in a longpaw den abandoned in a terrible condition. The Sun-Dog had fully risen by this point, having its light blast Lucky's eyes.

He stood up, trotting until his neck felt a pull. The rope. Osama bin Laden had tied it around his neck and tied the rope to a piece of wood, ensuring he would not escape. To this moment, the reason why Osama would want him remains unclear. He had a good nose, of course, but what difference would that make if he could find the trails of a ghost?

The rope limited Lucky's range to around half the room, allowing him to sleep by the window and go up to the remains of the kitchen before experiencing any problems. Opening his ears, Lucky listened for the exact room Osama was on, only to find no answers. He had to be around the corner, at least.

Osama entered the room, carrying his ghost locate-inator. The white box, painted with blue and black stripes, with hues of red at its top, had lights glowing inside and out of it. The small screen lit up at the flick of a switch. "Good thing you woke up, or I would have abandoned you here for my search! Now, Lucky, we might not have known each other for long, but I am aware that you are willing to listen to me so I can rest my soul."

"Yes…" Lucky confirmed, causing Osama to continue his speech.

"I wish to have nothing but the quietness around me when I make it into the afterlife, to finally experience the wonders beyond death as it was meant to be experienced. So, if you are not convinced, then I hope this makes you convinced, because you have no say in the matter."

There was no use in arguing, Lucky had decided, only nodding his head as Osama rambled on about his plans. All he could worry about was how his pack was doing. How many days had passed? Two? Sweet must've been worried sick, and everywhere around the pack must've been searched thoroughly.

The pack had made it through tough times before. They'd dealt with battles against enemies and one another, loss of friends and family… Lucky tilted his head to look at the wooden ceiling, as though he could peek beyond it and see the stars in the sky. He would join there, one day. He was always going to die.

"Hey, Lucky, come on," Osama said, "or I will never return you. We have a ghost to find. And remember that if you try to escape, I will hunt you down. I know where every living thing is."

He turned to the door, holding it open for a moment until something dawned in his brain. "That reminds me," he turned the corner and vanished into that unexplored part of the room. Moments passed before he emerged, his beard now cut to a reasonable length. "It was about time I removed that thing. Always weighing me down!"

The hatred returned in his voice, commanding and violent. Osama led Lucky outside of the house, back into the sunny streets of wherever they were. Tempting, it was, to ask, but Lucky held back. What use would it serve if he knew the name of this longpaw place? Thousands of them crowded the streets like bugs under leaf litter, and the street lights were off, though the sunlight was beaming brightly overhead.

"Kim Il Sung was a proud leader," Osama explained, "I guess with accuracy that he would live in a populated spot. When his trail is picked up, we will corner him in no time. But, to find the exact spot, we will have to get in the mind of a dictator and see where he decides to go."

A dramatic pause followed his speech, then Osama pointed downtown, towards a road so far that it faded into the blue ahead. "I say he will be that way, towards the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun."

Lucky followed Osama through the streets as time continued to flow, the sky above changing to reflect this. While the journey was mostly taken on foot or paw, there were moments when Lucky was ordered onto a bus, allowing Osama to possess him and take them further through the city.

Night fell and still they continued, following the previous day's intent to search for Kim Il Sung's spirit when no longpaws walked the streets. It took until the darkest depths of the night for the faint lights of the Palace of the Sun to reach their sight. Lucky saw it first, pointing it out to Osama as they stepped off a bus. "Is that the palace?"

Each time Osama took possession of Lucky, thoughts would trickle in by the form of images or fragmented sentences which had appeared for a blip in his mind. The most common image out of those was that of a grandiose den of white, flat at the roofs and sides but taller than any longpaw could ever reach. It was a building fit for every Spirit Dog in the world, but if one could live there, it would have to be the Earth-Dog.

"I would have to say so," Osama said, replying with certainty, "no other structure in Korea could match its elegance. Even in this dark time, the white walls shine through, a proud display of the achievements of this country."

Until that point, such profound words had never left Osama bin Laden's mouth. He often displayed a distaste for the country of America, but idolized North Korea to a vicious extent. They approached the building by walking through the grass, that is, before Osama stopped, eyeing the area ahead. "It can't be safe."

"Why not?" Lucky tilted his head. "Thieves?"

"Worse than that," Osama shook his own head, turning his back from Lucky. "The security is strict. To bring a living animal like you would result in your death, and a dead nose is no better help than a human nose. I need you alive; there are consequences to your death that I cannot let loose. But, if you wait here, I risk interference from our enemies."

"And what would enemies do?" Lucky narrowed his eyes, his feathery tail brushing against the ground. "At this point, I'm only helping out of reluctant obedience. Couldn't another dog work? How special am I?"

There stood a story on Osama's tongue, yet it stayed put. "That has to wait for another time. For now, it is urgent that you are hidden somewhere while I scout around the palace. It would be best to bring a fresh nose to smell a trail of Kim Il Sung's scent, but with the circumstances we face, you will have to wait."

He brought Lucky to a shelter, a den covered with mossy wood which lay mismatched on the walls of the frail structure. It was as good as the first hideout, but here the space was lacking, not a single rug or piece of longpaw furniture to speak of. Lucky sat as Osama tied his strange half-real, half-ghost rope around a nearby wood chunk.

The rope proved strong, as Lucky had discovered when Osama forced him to take it off. It stuck to its strong point and refused to budge, resisting his bites. His teeth struggled to pull out the wall the rope was embedded in, satisfying Osama's paranoia. The emotion could very well be sensed, but he hid it as well as his overall goal.

"Your patience is more important than you realize," Osama stated in a cold breath. "You do not understand how amazing your skills are until they are taken away from you, isolated, and then what do you have to defend yourself?"

He left the room in a silent brush of air, the same air which buffeted Lucky's golden coat, leaving his white belly untouched. His ribs were showing through the once-nourished stomach; Osama didn't care about food unless Lucky bugged him for it, and still he hesitated.

The cold only grew worse as the night progressed, but the chilly air had lessened inside the safety of the walls. He pondered about home: His pack, his family, his friends. What would they be doing while he sat here, tied by a rope made by a longpaw who should have faded when he died?

Sweet would have searched the surrounding forests and cities twice over. Every cave, every den, every small hole or nook that Lucky could have been would be sniffed. She would lose sleep over the event, and her pups would be worried. Sky, Earth, Forest, and River would be hit even harder than Sweet.

They had known Lucky since birth: He taught them, told them stories, and gave them a taste of what it was to be a dog in power with so many responsibilities. The pack needed him to thrive, and his pups admired that. They looked up to him and came to him when they needed help. The pack wouldn't be the same if he was gone.

Oh, the pack, how could he miss everything but not think about the pack? It was with his help that the pack slowly turned against its leader, who betrayed them anyways, and they were reformed. It went through many hardships, many of which happened before his arrival, but by today it was stronger than ever, like a massive family.

And they all miss me. Generations would need to pass for things to feel normal again, but my legacy would remain. Is that true, his own legacy? Had he done enough in life, impacted enough lives, that dogs would still remember him in their stories for moons to come? His legacy was all he had worked for in life, but his disappearance brought a fear that it would slip away, and his name would be gone.

Everything he had worked for, all he had sacrificed for a safe, peaceful life, and would it be worth it? When his pups had pups, and their pups had pups, would his name be a blip in their minds? Or would the pack be so changed that they scatter, forgetting everything and burning the legacy he had left behind?

Death had a way of grasping his heart. Lucky stared at the open door, lost in thought at the idea of his passing. In his younger years, it never occurred that he could die and lose it all. Why should he, when his life was so filled? But now, alone and cold, the feelings sunk in worse than Blade's Storm of Dogs.

If death forgot him, would he ever be remembered?